


Sucker

by 8bitnoire



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: ...finally., ...more or less, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Con Artists, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Pegging, Power Play, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Safewords, Teasing, and rhys has one foot on either side of it, porn with a little plot, there's a fine line between a bratty sub and a power bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22206628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bitnoire/pseuds/8bitnoire
Summary: Sasha leans back and folds her arms. “I mean that we have a perfectly suitable honeypot right here.”“Right where?” asks Rhys.Sasha gives Fiona a meaningful look.
Relationships: Fiona/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	Sucker

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot believe that there has never been a rhyiona pegging fic before this. but the time has come, and i've found my calling.
> 
> note: this takes place in an AU where rhys didn't become the atlas CEO, and instead decided to stay with fiona and sasha on pandora after the events of tales from the borderlands.

The mission was simple enough. Fiona had heard tell that a Maliwan representative was in town, trying to cash in on some of Hyperion’s leftover goods. And, well, if he was Maliwan, he’d be traveling with at least six thousand dollars with him. 

The issue, though, was that if he was Maliwan he would also be a slippery motherfucker. He wasn’t going to storm into a bar and start flashing cash at people like someone from Hyperion, no. He’d be shrewd, and he’d keep it all locked away wherever he was sleeping for the night. Meaning that pulling off a heist would require getting into the guy’s hotel room. 

But, Fiona figures, this will still be easy to pull off. Sasha wants to stay behind the scenes from now on, so Rhys will shadow her. And Fiona will slide on a tight dress and heels, lay it on thick for the guy, get up to his hotel room, find the money and -

“There’s a problem.”

Fiona blinks. “What’s the problem.”

Sasha sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Our guy....is not interested in women.”

Fiona is stunned into silence for a moment. “...he’s not?”

“Nope. Says right here in the dating profile thing we dug up. Men only.”

“Fuck,” Fiona exclaims. “You’re kidding. You have got to be kidding me.”

“If you don’t believe me, look for yourself.”

“No, I believe you. This is just...” Fiona lifts her hat and runs a hand through her bangs, agitated. “So we just let this whole thing go? We just let someone else steal him from us?”

“Not necessarily.”

“How else would we go through it without a honeypot? We’d have to break into literally so many records, get into the bedroom without him knowing, pull off the entire thing without the guy even SEEING us -“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean.”

Sasha leans back and folds her arms. “I mean that we have a perfectly suitable honeypot right here.”

“Right where?” asks Rhys.

Sasha gives Fiona a meaningful look.

A moment passes before it fully registers. “Oh - absolutely not,” Fiona eventually manages to spit out. “We are NOT doing that.”

“I mean, it’s this or abandon the mark. Your call.”

Fiona glances at Sasha, then at Rhys, then back to Sasha. “He has literally NEVER done this before. He hasn’t even practiced doing it. I don’t even know if he’s actually had sex!”

“I have had sex,” says Rhys, looking slightly offended. 

“I doubt he’s had sex with a man.”

Rhys's expression crosses from slightly offended into very offended. “For your information, I have had sex with men. Lots of times. And I’ve done it, y’know, _both ways_. So there.” He leans back, very satisfied with himself. 

“Wow,” says Fiona, “I’m actually almost impressed with you.”

“Thank you. Also, I’m not doing that.”

Fiona sighs dramatically and flings herself onto the chair. “Come oooooon!”

“I don’t even know how to do it!” Rhys exclaims. “Like what do I do, just go up to the guy and be like ‘hey what’s-your-face, please fuck me now and don’t ask questions, also we can only go to yours and not mine because this is absolutely not a shady operation at all’??”

“Have you never picked someone up in a bar before?”

“I - well - ”

“Something tells me he was usually the one getting picked up,” says Sasha dryly.

Rhys deflates. “I mean...yeah?”

“You are useless,” Fiona spits, and turns to Sasha. “So what do we do.”

Sasha shrugs. “We could try to train him to do it . We both have plenty of experience.”

“But - ”

“Fiona,” says Sasha, leaning forward. “If we want to even try to go through with this, we have one option. And this is our one option.”

And finally, Fiona lets out a long, exaggerated groan and decides that arguing with Sasha isn’t worth it. “...Okay. Fine.”

Sasha turns to Rhys. “And what about you.”

“Do I have to have sex with him?”

“Not necessarily,” says Fiona. “We could work out a way around it.”

“And what if I don’t know how to...pick people up.”

“We’ll teach you, obviously.”

“Or,” says Sasha, “maybe you’ll look so good that you won’t even have to try.”

Rhys points at Sasha. “I like option B.”

“Even if he somehow manages to look that hot,” says Fiona, earning an indignant little noise from Rhys, “he’s got to get the mark’s attention somehow. We’ll definitely need to give him a little training.”

Sasha nods. “Good point.” 

Fiona glances over at Rhys. “Sound like a plan?”

Rhys sighs, grits his teeth, and puts his hands up in surrender. “All right. You win. I’ll do it.”

(True to form, he still can’t resist the fist-bump Fiona offers.)

-

“I‘m not wearing this,” Rhys says flatly from behind the bathroom door.

“Oh come ON, it can’t be that bad,” says Fiona.

“It is that bad. I look like a tool.”

“What’s new.”

“Okay, fine, I look like a skinny, pasty tool who hasn’t worked out in months and who really should be wearing a coat.”

“I’ll say it again: what’s new.”

“Ughhhhhh, do I really have to show it to you guys?”

Across the room, Sasha rolls her eyes. “Our hard work in putting this together for you is feeling oh-so-appreciated right about now.”

“Yeah, come on,” Fiona goads. “I’m sure you and your outfit both look like shit - " this earns a perfectly-in-unison exclamation of offense from both Rhys and Sasha - “but it can’t be worse than how you usually dress, right?” 

“Hey, I dress well enough. Even you’ve admitted it. And I...I normally wear WAY more clothes than I’m wearing right now.”

“Jesus, Rhys, just show us the outfit,” Sasha groans. 

“All right, okay, fine,” says Rhys, and pushes open the bathroom door. 

There’s a moment where Fiona is prepared to laugh - prepared for Rhys to come out looking ridiculous, prepared to accept that all her hard work on the sewing machine was for practically nothing.

Except. Well.

Rhys spreads his arms and does a half-hearted little turn. “See? Doesn’t work.”

“Rhys,” says Sasha frankly, “you look like a fucking bombshell.”

Because, well, he does. The collared vest nips in his waist to something tiny, shows off his cybernetic arm and full-sleeve tattoo, flatters his slim neck and delicate features; the tailored pants hug his hips, elongate his legs, frame his unfairly perky ass to a ridiculous degree. Fiona’s torn between patting herself on the back and kicking herself for making whatever THIS is actually happen.

“I assume you’re joking,” says Rhys dryly, interrupting Fiona’s train of thought. “Go on, tell me it sucks.”

“It doesn’t suck,” says Sasha, leaning back in her chair. “You actually look good.”

“It’s too small. And too tight.”

“It’s supposed to be too small and too tight, genius,” Fiona manages. “That’s why it works.”

Rhys blinks, glancing at Fiona. “You’re...you’re serious? It looks okay?”

 _Okay_ isn’t the word Fiona would personally use. But she shrugs as nonchalantly as she possibly can. “Yeah. It looks...nice,” she says weakly, trying valiantly not to stare at Rhys’s...well, everything. 

Rhys seems to perk up a bit at that, smoothing down the front of the vest and readjusting the collar. “You don’t think it’s too much?” 

“It’s entirely too much, Rhys, and that’s a good thing right now.”

“Then why do you look like you’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not pissed at you,” says Fiona, and glares daggers at Sasha, who’s making a teasingly salacious face behind Rhys’s back. 

“You look like you are!”

“ANYWAY,” Sasha interrupts, standing up abruptly. “I told Athena and Janey I’d meet them at the place where our mark’s headed tomorrow. To scout things out.” She hesitates for a moment. “Maybe don’t mention that part to them, though, they think we’re just getting drinks together.”

Fiona stands up, relieved. “Oh, cool - uh, Rhys, we’ll see you later - ”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sasha interrupts. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m coming with you? To the bar?”

Sasha actually laughs at that. “Ohhhh no, you’re not.”

“Uh, why not? I know he can’t go because he might get recognized tomorrow, but I’m not the face of the con this time. So it’s fine.” 

“You think we’re gonna let him go in there tomorrow night without anyone there for backup? Absolutely not. You go with him tomorrow. I go and scout tonight.” Sasha eyes Fiona. “Besides, your crush on Athena is getting obvious enough that it’s making everyone feel awkward, so - ”

“Hey, we agreed that we’re all allowed to have one Vault Hunter crush free of judgement,” says Fiona accusingly. “Rhys gets Zer0, I get Athena, you get...whoever.” She catches Rhys’s eye just as he raises his hand like he’s in a school classroom. “Um...yes, Rhys?”

“If Sasha doesn’t have a Vault Hunter crush can I use hers? And have two?” 

“No, you can’t fucking do that, it doesn’t work that way - ”

“Ooo-KAY, I’m LEAVING,” Sasha singsongs, inching her way toward the door. “Don’t kill each other before I get back, all right?”

“No promises,” says Fiona, and pushes the door open, holding it for Sasha. “Don’t party too hard out there.”

Sasha hops out of the caravan and gives Fiona a mock salute in return. Then she leans in just enough, so only Fiona can see her, and makes an incredibly obnoxious kissy face.

Fiona’s face heats. “Go. Get out of here.”

She closes the door on Sasha’s teasing laugh and makes a show out of locking it, hoping that her flush will fade before she has to turn around and look at Rhys again. Sure, she and Rhys may or may not have drunkenly made out and then refused to mention it to each other ever again. This also may or may not have happened on multiple occasions. But...like, it doesn’t mean anything. Not really. Rhys is still a giant loser. (And Sasha is still just as obnoxious about all of Fiona’s not-crushes as she was when she was six.) 

Fiona shakes her head and rubs a hand over her face, turning back to Rhys. “You think it’s possible to sell a sibling on the black market?”

Rhys snorts. “No clue. I’m an only child, remember?”

“You lucky fuck,” Fiona grumbles.

“Aw, you love her.”

“Of course I love her, and she’s fucking annoying sometimes. Jeez.” She takes off her hat and tosses it across the room like a Frisbee. It lands neatly on her bedroll. “Oh, nice!”

“Nice,” Rhys agrees. “Want another drink?”

“Yes please. I am still way too sober right now.” She sits down across from him and eyes the wine bottle appreciatively. “And this is the good shit, too.”

“Which you and Sasha drank over half of while I was changing.”

“You had two glasses earlier. And you were in that bathroom for like half an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever,” says Rhys, and slides her now-full glass over to her before filling his own.

Fiona leans back and takes a sip, glancing at Rhys. “So. Big day’s coming up, huh?”

Rhys exhales through his teeth and gulps down a third of his glass in one go. “Yyyeah.”

“Has Sasha given you any tips? Primers?”

“Uh...not really. She basically says she just sort of...does it? Like, no technique involved?” He waves a hand around noncommittally.

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Of course she says that.”

“I assume that there is technique.”

“Of course there is. She’s just naturally good at it.”

“Hey, maybe I’m naturally good at it too,” he says. Fiona responds to that with a deadpan stare, and he throws his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, or maybe not. I don’t know.”

An idea sparks in Fiona’s mind. “Well, let’s see.”

“See what.”

“Pretend I’m the mark, okay?” says Fiona. “And you’re doing your thing. You walk through that door, I’m sitting back at the bar. What do you do.” 

Rhys narrows his eyes, confused. Fiona gestures at him. “Come on. Act it out. Improv.”

He gets it. “Ohhh, that’s what we’re doing. Okay.” He looks around the room wildly, as if it’s going to give him some sort of guidance. When it doesn’t, he turns back to her. “Can we start over?”

“...I guess?”

“Okay. Uh.” He paces around aimlessly for a moment, seeming rather lost. Finally he takes a deep breath, nods, sits down and gives her an incredibly awkward smile. “....Hey....you.”

Fiona groans, dropping her head onto the table with a _thunk_. “Oh my God, we’re screwed.”

“You didn’t give me ANY direction!” Rhys protests.

“What, are we putting on a play now?”

“Sort of!!”

Fiona pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, go back. Do it again. And like, actually do something this time.”

“All right,” says Rhys, and crosses back to the other side of the room in preparation. “Okay.”

“You got this,” Fiona says encouragingly.

Rhys nods. “I got this. Right.”

Then he takes a deep breath and reenters. “Heya, uh, how you doing, honey?”

“Holy shit do NOT do the Vazquez voice,” Fiona deadpans.

“I wasn’t doing the Vazquez voice!”

“You were a little bit!”

“You told me to do something! That's what I did!”

“Okay but like - you are not Vazquez! You are you!” 

“Me is not good at this!”

“And neither was Vazquez!”

“You were right,” says Rhys, and collapses miserably onto the vanity’s chair. “This isn’t going to work.”

Fiona purses her lips. “No, no...We shouldn’t call it just yet. I think we’re going about this wrong.”

“How so?” 

She scrutinizes him. “You’re acting too much. You’re trying to...I don’t know. Play a character.”

“But I am playing a character, right?”

“I mean...not really.” She considers it for a moment. “See...okay, learning moment for Rhys here: one of the biggest rules of con artistry is to always be yourself. Go by a different name, wear a costume, whatever. But always try to act like how you’d actually act in that situation, in that context. That way, it seems genuine.”

“Huh.” He nods. “Makes sense.”

“So how would you act if you were trying to get someone’s attention in a bar?” She leans back and sips her drink.

He takes a second to think about it. “Realistically? I’d probably wait until they noticed me first.”

Fiona nods. “Okay. See, that’s helpful.”

“How.”

“It tells me you tend to be the passive one in these situations.”

“I am not passive.”

“I MEAN that you like it when someone else initiates,” says Fiona, rolling her eyes. “You don’t like to initiate in the first place. And everyone can also tell that you don’t like doing it.”

“Oh. Right. I guess that’s true,” Rhys says.

She stands, crossing to the vanity. “See, that’s not how I would personally approach something like this, but you aren’t me. My style doesn’t fit for you, so we’ll try a different tack.”

Rhys watches her reflection in the vanity’s mirror. “And this different tack is?” 

“You have to draw him in. You can’t just fade into the background.” She puts her hands on his shoulders, hovering over him in the mirror’s reflection. “You have to be _irresistible_ , Rhys.”

He stares, bemused. “...and how do I do that?”

“It’s all about the energy,” says Fiona emphatically. “You have to know what you want, and that’s gonna draw him in.” She leans over him. “So walking into the bar - what do you want.”

“To get the money?”

She waves a hand. “Okay, yes, but the version of yourself that you’re playing - what does he want.”

“To...to look nice?”

“But why do you want to look nice.”

“To get attention.”

God, he really is dense. “Why do you want attention? And from who?”

Realization dawns over his face. “...I want to hook up with someone?”

“Bingo,” says Fiona with a grin.

Rhys spins the vanity chair around, so they’re physically face-to-face again. “Okay, but I don’t ACTUALLY want to hook up with this guy.”

“But you have to feel like you do.”

“How.”

She throws up her hands, exasperated. “Have you seriously never gone into a bar looking to fuck anyone at all? Like - it doesn’t even matter who they are, you just NEED to have sex, to get it out of your system.”

“I mean...I guess once or twice,” says Rhys. “But only when I was like...VERY horny. And VERY desperate.”

“And you don’t feel that way now?”

He winces. “I...I’m not really sure I do?”

“Hm,” says Fiona, and now the alcohol is starting to make her bold, making her say things she shouldn’t - “But I mean...when was the last time you had sex?”

Rhys blinks. “What?”

“No, scratch that.” She makes careful eye contact. “When was the last time you got properly _fucked_?”

His jaw drops. “Uh, EXCUSE me?” 

“We’re already talking about sex. You said, and I quote, you've ‘done it both ways’.” She shrugs.

“That’s - that’s personal!” he splutters, wide-eyed.

“I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Jesus,” says Rhys, shaking his head in disbelief. “Okay. Okay, fine.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “It’s...uh, it’s been like a year or so.”

“And you like it?” Fiona prompts.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it.”

“So do you miss it?”

“I - uh, yeah, I guess? It’s been a while.”

“What do you miss about it? Be specific.”

Rhys is flushed a deep shade of red now. “Um - well,” he stammers, “I - I guess I like how, uh...”

“Go on,” says Fiona, encouragingly.

He steels himself. “I guess I like how it makes me feel? When...you know.”

Fiona crouches down, so she’s at eye level with him. “How does it make you feel?”

“...full,” Rhys manages. “Full and...sensitive inside.”

“More sensitive than your dick?”

“It’s different.”

“Does it ever hurt?”

“A...a little, sometimes. When they’re too big. But…” He laughs breathlessly. “But - I sort of - I sort of don’t mind. If it hurts a little.”

“And why is that?” asks Fiona, voice low and honeyed. 

Rhys licks his lips. “It, uh, well, it makes me feel sort of -”

“Small?” she finishes.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Small. Kind of...like if they push too hard, they might break me.”

Fiona leans in. “Do you want someone to break you, Rhys?”

The moment hangs between them, electric and crackling. 

Rhys swallows. “I ...You - you are up to something, aren’t you.”

“I’m getting you in character,” she responds, matter-of-fact. 

He’s sounding slightly hysterical now. “What, is my character a very weird half-chub?”

“Why is it weird?” Fiona counters. “We’re talking about sex. And you haven’t had _that_ kind of sex in a while.”

Rhys flounders. “It’s weird because now I’m...I’m….”

“You’re turned on?”

“ ...yes!”

Bullseye. “Just from talking about it?”

“Maybe?!” Oh, he’s definitely in hysterical territory now. “You’re, you’re kinda pushing all of my buttons here -”

Something occurs to her. “...wait.”

“What is it now,” Rhys hisses. 

“Do you have a safe word?”

From his expression, she might as well have asked him if he’d already written up a last will and testament. “Do I have a WHAT.”

“A safe word. Like -”

“I know what a safe word is, Fiona, I didn’t plan to have to USE IT tonight - ”

“Just thought it might be helpful if we’re gonna try and act this out or whatever. Sensitive topics. You know.”

“You’re acting like this wasn’t your idea.”

“Come on,” she says, and snaps her fingers. “Safe word. Now.”

He doesn’t respond. 

She narrows her eyes. “Rhys. What is it.”

“It’s…” He grimaces. “It’s Claptrap.”

Fiona just stares. “...it is NOT.”

“I just didn’t want to have to memorize a new one, okay?” His voice is cracking from the strain already.

“You are such a fucking loser, I don’t know how I can ever stand to be in the same room as you.,” Fiona deadpans. “Claptrap.’ Good god.”

Rhys makes a face. “Are you done yet?”

“Yeah, okay, fine, I’m done,” she says.

He fidgets. “So, uh, now that we have a _safe word_ \- or whatever - my character is just me wanting…wanting, uh…”

“Wanting...?”

“To get...fucked?” His voice tilts up precariously.

“Hey, you can’t play slutty if you don’t feel slutty.” She shrugs.

“I - I don’t feel slutty.”

Fiona drags her eyes over his outfit, from those too-tight pants to the tempting jut of his collarbones. “You don’t?”

Rhys folds his arms self-consciously. “Okay, well - a little, maybe -”

“Because that’s a verrrry _provocative_ outfit you’re wearing,” she continues lowly. “And you just told me all about how turned on you are right now.”

“You told me to wear this!”

“And you agreed. You know it looks good.” She’s in full yarn-spinning mode now, weaving a sensual image, tugging at his basest emotions with practiced expertise. “You’re insecure because it looks good, because it’s tight in all the right places and shows all that skin and it makes people want to look at you. And that gets you all hot and bothered. Doesn’t it?”

“Maybe - I don’t know - ”

Fiona smiles slyly. “Well, you’d better get used to all that attention.” Her voice drops into a purr. “‘Cause the moment you walk into that bar, everyone that sees you is gonna want you. Everyone. But only one person can give you what you need so badly. And that person is...”

“You,” says Rhys earnestly.

Fiona blinks, finally knocked off-balance. “I was gonna say the mark, but…” She rights herself quickly. “Yeah. For the purposes of all this, sure. Me.” She backs up slowly and sits down on the couch, crossing her legs and leaning back. “So. Let’s try to see how you get what you want.”

This time, Rhys doesn’t stop to collect himself, doesn’t take a deep breath or wait until the color drains from his cheeks before he stands. He approaches, slowly, deliberately, and Fiona watches him move, watches him sit tentatively next to her and cross his legs. She can tell he’s still nervous, but some of the tension has gone from his body. He looks down at his drink, licks his lips, and glances up at her.

Fiona meets his eyes and smirks.

Rhys starts and looks away quickly, cheeks pink and mouth parted. He’s sitting up straighter than usual now, too. Fiona doesn’t take her eyes off him, sure now that he can feel her gaze burning hot against the side of his face as she tries to regain his attention. 

And yet, he resists. He doesn’t look at her again, just holds his glass in his cybernetic hand and pouts down at its contents. He’s stubborn as ever, and so is she, but the way he’s biting his lower lip now is just very, very unfair. He wants to talk, she’s sure of it, can tell that he’s holding himself back. 

Well, Fiona thinks, if he won’t get this rolling, she will.

She leans in, scooting close enough to speak to him in a low voice. “Looks like it’s almost time for a refill,” she says, nodding at his glass.

He looks up, as if he’s surprised she’s speaking to him. “Mine?”

“Yes, yours.”

“Oh.” He glances down at his half-full glass. “It is almost empty, isn’t it. I should - “ He gets up to reach for the bottle.

Fiona’s faster. “Allow me,” she says, and grabs the bottle before he can.

He watches her pour the drink, peers up at her she tops him off and hands him the glass again. “Thank you,” he says, and takes a small sip.

Fiona leans back, sprawling out on the sofa. She’s not planning to make this easy on him, oh no. He should be prepared for a hard sell. And besides, Fiona’s no sucker - she’s not gonna play one for him. “You’re real polite for a Pandoran, aren’t you?” she asks, keeping up the facade of the game. “All please and thank-you.” 

“Oh, I - I’m not from Pandora, actually.” He’s nervous, still. That much is evident. But oddly enough, it’s...sort of working now. Less _awkward nerd_ , more _blushing virgin_. 

She chuckles. “Well, not being from Pandora explains your good manners, doesn’t it. Most folks around here would have thrown their drink in my face instead of letting me buy them another. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“I do my best,” says Rhys, and gives her one of those shy little smiles he saves for special occasions. 

She ignores how that makes her stomach jump, and moves closer to him. “What’s your name?”

He laughs, and she knows he’s being wry now but it doesn’t come off that way, not at all. “It’s Rhys.”

“Rhys,” she says, rolling her tongue over it. “Pretty for a boy’s name.”

That makes him actually blush, rosy and genuine. “Oh. Uh. Thank you.”

“Well, then,” says Fiona. “To you, Rhys.”

“To me?”

She grins, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not every day a good-looking stranger just wanders in and sits down next to you. I think that’s a good cause for me to celebrate.”

“I would have thought you’d have your fill of good-looking strangers.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I guess I am,” says Rhys, and smiles.

She takes another sip of her drink. “So you’re here alone? That’s awfully brave of you, out in the wilds of Pandora.” 

“I don’t know,” he says, pursing his lips coyly. “I like the wild.”

“Do you, now.” She gives him a once-over, slow and deliberate. “I’d think it would scare a delicate little city boy like you.”

His eyes meet hers. “I’m not as delicate as I look.”

“Really.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Then surprise me.”

Rhys pulls back and glances up at her through his lashes. “...Will you get me another drink first?”

He’s good at this. How the fuck is he good at this? She breathes out a laugh. “Playing hardball, are we?”

He pouts and turns away. “We don’t have to play at all, if you don’t want -”

“That’s not what I -” He shoots her an arch look, and she shakes her head. “Fine. Here.” She grabs the bottle and pours him another glass. 

He takes it. “Thank you, _Fiona_.” (Shit, hearing him say her name all coy and sweet like that should NOT be affecting her like this.) Then he slides just a bit closer, close enough that his knee is barely brushing hers, and fuck this, Fiona feels like a goddamn horny teenager again and she hates him, she really truly hates him. “So you’re here by yourself, too?”

“I…” She fishes around for something to say. “I needed a little time to relax.”

He pulls away quickly, as if he’s about to stand up. “Oh, I hope I’m not intruding -”

Fiona interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder. “No! - no, you aren’t. Not at all.” (God, since when has she been so...awkward?)

“You’re sure?”

She shrugs it off. “Of course I’m sure.”

Rhys nods and sits again. “So...in that case, what is it you’re looking for?” He says it casually, innocently, but it sends a little shiver up her spine nonetheless.

Well, two can play at this game. “I don’t know,” she says, nonchalant. “Just a little company would be nice.”

“I’m pretty good at keeping people company,” he says.

“You seem like you would be.”

He furrows his brow ever-so-slightly, feigning ignorance. “Why is that?”

That throws her. “Well - uh, I don’t know. You just do.”

“But I like to hear the details,” says Rhys. And then - God help her - he slings one leg over hers, so he’s sitting halfway on her lap. “Will you tell me?”

Fiona could swear that, in that moment, she literally feels her brain short-circuit. “Uh,” she says, unable to focus on anything but the warm weight of Rhys over her thigh, the shape of his ass, the growing hardness of -

“Come onnnn,” he says, petulant. “You’re not gonna give me even a little feedback?”

“Uh,” says Fiona again, and now she’s looking at the trim, perfect line of his waist, which really isn’t a better thing to look at, “I mean, uh, your vest is, it’s nice.” Real intelligent.

But he just scoffs. “I know it’s nice. You can do better than that.”

That finally makes her look up. “What, I don’t even get a ‘thank you’?”

“I don’t know if you deserve another thank you quite so soon,” he says flippantly.

She narrows her eyes. “So what would it take for you to give it to me?”

“Patience.”

Her voice drops. “I’m starting to lose my patience with you.”

“And why is that my problem?” 

He’s egging her on now, she’s sure of it. “Are you always such a damn tease, Rhys?”

“I’m not teasing you,” pouts Rhys, and unsubtly grinds his ass against her thigh. “I’m being very nice.”

Fiona’s close to her breaking point. She grabs his hips, squeezes threateningly. “If you were being nice you’d let me give you what we both know you want.”

“I don’t even know if you CAN give me what I want,” he says, and licks his lips.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Or maybe you’re just all talk,” says Rhys with a shrug. “I don’t know.”

“You are such a little shit.”

And then Rhys leans in, close enough that she can feel his breath against her lips. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

_Famous last words._

Before he can react, Fiona takes hold of his shoulder and pushes him roughly down onto the couch. He gasps, his back arching as she pins him against the cushions. “Oh my god - ”

She cuts him off with a kiss, rough and bruising and electric. He moans into it, grasping at her elbows, making sweet little noises that go straight to her groin. 

Fiona pulls away from the kiss, grasps his jaw in one hand and holds him down. “See, this is what you get for teasing,” she mutters, grazing her thumb gently against his lower lip. 

But Rhys doesn’t have a snarky comeback this time. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he just parts his lips and takes her thumb into his mouth, looks up at her with mischievous eyes and _sucks_. 

The action startles Fiona, and she freezes for a moment, tries to pull away. But Rhys grasps her wrist in one hand and tugs her back down over him, pouting around her thumb as he takes it deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” Fiona whispers. “Someone’s got an oral fixation.” 

Rhys just smirks and flicks his tongue over the pad of her thumb.

Determined to retaliate, Fiona slides her knee up so her thigh settles over Rhys’s erection again. He whines at the contact, bucking up against her, and Fiona grasps at his waist to draw him close. “Don’t move.” 

Rhys’s mouth drops open as Fiona gently grinds her thigh down. She withdraws her thumb from between his lips, making use of her newly freed hands by unbuttoning his top. It falls open, revealing the rest of his tattoo - sprawling dark and detailed over his chest, one side of the ink perfectly encircling a pert, pink nipple like an invitation. Which Fiona accepts. 

She brushes her spit-slick thumb over it, and he bucks his hips against her again. She grins at his response. “Sensitive, huh.”

“Shut up,” Rhys manages, breathing heavily already. 

She tweaks at the nipple gently, and he squeaks. “You’re the one who’s making all the noise, babe.”

“I - fuck - I can’t help it,” Rhys whines, as Fiona dips down to tongue at his chest. “Oh, god, don’t stop that.”

“Stop what?” asks Fiona, and promptly bites lightly at the nipple. 

His whole body tenses beneath her, and she feels his organic hand clutch at her shoulder. A well-timed suck as she pinches the other nipple, and he’s moaning louder than ever, arching his chest up against her mouth. “Oh - Fiona - oh my god,” he says, “I’ve never - ”

Fiona glances up. “Never had someone do this before?” she asks, and Rhys nods. “I’m shocked. Do you make a habit of only fucking self-obsessed pricks?”

Rhys winces, and Fiona huffs out a laugh. “Well then. I guess you’re in for the time of your life tonight,” she purrs. 

Rhys smirks back at her. “Don’t get too cocky just yet,” he says, legs curling around her waist. 

“You were the one who was already moaning my name,” says Fiona. She tweaks his flushed-red nipples for emphasis and he yelps. “And you’re gonna be screaming it soon.” She winks, almost jokingly.

He laughs at that. “Oh my God - be quiet and just touch me.”

“Ooh, getting bossy now, are we,” Fiona responds. Still, she’s fumbling with the zipper of his pants, and grins in triumph when she finally manages to get them open. “There we go. Nice underwear, by the way.”

Rhys flushes violently at that. “They’re still perfectly functional, I wasn’t going to just get rid of them.”

Fiona snaps the waistband of Rhys’s boxer briefs, bright yellow and patterned all over with the Hyperion logo. “Uh-huh. Let’s get this monstrosity off before I go blind.”

“They’re not _that_ bad,” Rhys insists, but then Fiona is pushing the boxers off of him and pulling out his dick, stroking it from root to tip. “Hoooooly fuck.”

Fiona grins. “Haven’t jacked off in a while, have you?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have much privacy - _ohmygoddothatagain_ \- ”

Fiona does it again, rubbing her thumb gently along the underside of the smooth pink head. “Feels good?”

“Yeah,” Rhys sighs. 

So Fiona does the same thing one more time, but with her tongue. That draws a gasp of surprise from Rhys, and his heels dig sharply into her back. Fiona pins him against the couch and takes the head into her mouth slowly. Rhys’s hips twitch up but she holds them down against the cushions, dragging her tongue over the warm length of his cock. He whines at the contact, and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

Fiona looks up at that. “Aw, come on.”

“I - I thought you said I was being too loud,” he says.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” says Fiona, and dips down again. 

A few minutes go by where it’s just that - Fiona experimenting to see what Rhys likes, what makes him moan and shiver and curl his legs around her shoulders. Soon enough, Rhys’s hands begin to drift up toward his nipples, and she pulls off to nod at him. “That’s it. Go ahead, play with them,” she instructs. He gives her a weak little nod, and pushes aside the flaps of his jacket to rub at his chest. Fiona watches him for a moment as he sighs, lashes soft against his cheeks, letting out soft puffs of breath as he touches himself. 

Eventually, he notices that she’s stopped moving, and his eyes flutter open. He squirms adorably when he sees that she’s watching him. “Stop - stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?” says Fiona smugly. “I thought you wanted to play with your nipples.”

“Not with you watching like that!”

“But watching is the fun part.”

Rhys huffs out a breath through his nose and pouts. “You’re so _mean_ sometimes.”

Fiona grins at him, sticking out her tongue. “You love it.”

“I do not,” says Rhys petulantly, but she doesn’t miss how his dick twitches.

Fiona leans over him and takes his dick in her hand again. “I think you’re lying to me, Rhys.”

Rhys shivers at that, so deeply that Fiona can see the fine hairs on the surface of his skin stand on end. “Okay,” he says, “okay, maybe a little bit?”

“Uh-huh,” says Fiona, and drags her hand over his cock. “Now tell me more about how _mean_ I am.”

“God - Fiona - ”

“Tell me.”

Rhys bites his lip. “You’re - come on, you got me all wound up, and now you won’t even fuck me,” he whines, bucking his hips up.

Fiona pulls back. “Oh, you want me to _fuck_ you?”

Rhys is caught, and she knows it. He can’t confirm it without sounding needy, can’t deny it without sounding like a liar yet again. So he just flounders, wide-eyed, his mouth opening and shutting with no sound coming out.

It’s cute for a moment. And then it gets boring. So Fiona leans over Rhys again, boxing him in with her arms. “Or - how about this. You’re going to tell me exactly what you need me to do to you right now. Or I’m leaving.”

Rhys’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. “Don’t leave.”

“Then tell me what you need me to do.”

Rhys swallows, flushes deeply, licks his lips. Looks up at Fiona with wide, mismatched eyes, and speaks. “I need you to - to fuck me. Now.”

“How much do you need it.”

“God, Fiona, can we just do this already? Please?”

Fiona laughs and decides not to push it. Instead, she slips off the sofa into a crouch, reaches down for her go-bag, fishes around in it for a moment, and finally locates what she’s looking for. She stands, lifts it up in the air and admires it for a moment. It’s a semi-realistic dildo attached to a harness, with one small, wire-like tab extending from the dildo’s flat side that’s meant to slide into her and temporarily interface with her neural network. The finest in detachable dick technology. 

Before Rhys can make fun of her for storing her strap-on in her go-bag, she tugs off her pants, clips on the harness, slides the thin magnetic tab into herself, and turns the interface on. She feels it connect instantly - like molten electricity running through her veins, a long, lazy shock radiating from her core and tingling at her limbs. 

Fiona gives it an experimental stroke. She’s never had an actual dick, doesn’t know how having one would authentically feel, but she figures that this has got to be pretty damn close. 

She can feel him watching her from the couch. Fiona looks up and sure enough, Rhys looks away immediately, color flooding his pale, freckled cheeks. She laughs and tucks a finger under his chin, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. “Don’t be shy. You want it, right?”

He nods, and his eyes flick down to her cock and up again. “May I?”

She smiles and steps back. “Come and get it.”

Rhys slides off the couch and drops to his knees, and Fiona swallows. God, she should feel self-conscious about this, should want to curl into a ball or slink away with her tail between her legs. But raw want is pounding through her now, knocking her off-balance, making her dizzier and drunker than the alcohol.

So she puts a hand in his hair and guides his mouth to her dick. 

The first touch of his lips on the synthetic cock sends a jolt through her - it’s always different when someone else touches it, the sensation always sharper, clearer. It’s all she can do not to rock her hips forward, thrust deep into his mouth. But she manages to hold herself back, pets at Rhys’s head and lets him explore at his own pace. She runs her hands through his hair, disrupting all the pomade that’s holding it in that stupid, prissy coif. There’s a part of her that gets a thrill from messing it up like this, taking all his hard work and just wrecking it to pieces. And besides, it’s really soft under all that product. 

But then Rhys puts his lips around her and sucks, and Fiona almost blacks out from the sensation. She hears herself groan in pleasure, feels herself push in deeper. “Holy shit, Rhys, that’s -“

But the words die in her throat when she opens her eyes to see him looking up at her, eyes wide and lips pouted around her cock. He bobs his head up and down a few times, never breaking eye contact, even as he pulls off her dick to mouth teasingly at the head.

She manages to laugh lowly, incredulously. “I guess the oral fixation is a good way to get you to shut up sometimes.”

Rhys pulls off all the way, and she’s not looking at the way his lips are red and glistening, not looking at the fine strand of spit connecting his mouth to her cock. “I mean, I was hoping I’d get to eat you out first,” he says, voice soft and smug, “but I like this too.” 

And that was objectively the worst thing he could have said in that moment, because it makes Fiona grab the back of his head and push down, and he goes willingly.

He swallows around her cock, swirls his tongue over the shaft, sucks sweetly at the head. His mouth is hot, wet, perfect, and he’s taking her down so smoothly without so much as a cough. He’s good at this. Really good at this.

It’s almost pissing her off a little.

So, just as he’s moving to pull off again, she takes a handful of that stupid hair and thrusts hard down his throat.

Rhys gags loud and hard, eyes widening in shock. For a fleeting, horrible moment, Fiona wonders if she’s finally gone too far, if Rhys will finally turn tail and never look back. 

So she lets him go. “Agh - god, I’m sorry, I didn’t - "

“Do that again.”

She blinks. “...what?”

“I said do it again.” Rhys grabs her hand and curls it in his hair, so she’s clutching a fistful. “Please.”

“Are you sure -“ 

“Come _on_ ,” he interrupts, staring up at her defiantly. “Just _do_ it.”

Instantly, Fiona recognizes it for what it is, for what he’s giving her - a challenge. Which is something that she’s never, ever been able to resist. 

So she takes a deep breath and tries to convince herself that this is just a very long, very weird wet dream. “O-okay.”

Rhys sits back and opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, looks up at her with big, expectant eyes. The statement is implicit now, but Fiona hears it loud and clear. 

The little brat’s been holding out on her the whole damn time.

She tugs at the fistful of his hair, screws her eyes shut, and thrusts down, hard. He gags again, but it’s not the deep scary gag he’d made before, and he doesn’t struggle, just stays where she holds him. She pumps her hips again, relishing in the drag of his lips over her, hot and messy. 

He just takes it. Lets her fuck his face, slow at first and then faster, rougher. She’s grinding down on him, pulling his hair, using his mouth, using him. She’s never felt like this, so utterly unhinged.

It’s incredible.

And before she can stop herself, she’s grabbing the back of his head and holding him down and coming hard. Electric shocks of pleasure burst through her body, limbs feeling almost-numb from the strength of her orgasm, and Rhys moans long and low, swallows around her oversensitive cock. 

Finally, it’s too much, and she pulls back, panting. She glances down at Rhys, and almost swears. 

Rhys looks absolutely wrecked, tears of exertion wet on his cheeks, eyes dark and blown wide. Lips bruised and swollen from the rough treatment, but smirking - _smirking_ \- up at her. That bastard.

Still, she crouches down in front of him, puts a hand to his cheek. “You okay?”

He hums in assent and nuzzles into her touch like a puppy, eyes fluttering shut as he draws his knees out from under him. “That was nice.”

Fiona can’t help but laugh incredulously. “...nice? That’s what you’re gonna call it?”

His eyes snap open again. “Well, I could say that I’m a little disappointed that you can’t actually cum on my face or in my mouth. But hey, you win some and lose some.”

Fiona doesn’t know whether to be offended or turned on by that. So she settles for both. “Well,” she says, leaning forward. “I guess I hadn’t thought that you’d like being _degraded_ as much as you clearly do.”

Rhys sputters, giving a little scoff of indignation at the snipe. “Blowjobs aren’t degrading.”

“That wasn’t a blowjob. That was you asking me to fuck your face and come all over you.”

He sniffs. “I was just offering my critique.” 

“But I’m not wrong, am I?” she counters. “You really do get off on being used like that.”

He flushes. “No.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“I - I don’t!”

“You don’t?” she says in mock surprise, and reaches down to palm at his achingly hard cock. “Then what’s this doing down here?”

Rhys freezes, caught off-guard. “It’s - it’s just cause we were - ”

“Cause I was just fucking your mouth?” asks Fiona, gaining traction. “Cause I was talking about using you? That’s why you’re still hard?” She gropes at his cock pointedly.

“S-stop making fun,” Rhys gasps, squirming weakly and blushing deep red and spreading his legs at her touch. 

Fiona snorts at that. “Can’t take a little friendly ribbing, can you?” She pushes him back against the couch easily, keeping one hand on his cock as she pushes the vest from his shoulders, leaving him completely nude underneath her. “I thought you liked it when I’m mean.” 

“You _are_ mean - ah, _ah_ \- ” Rhys moans, hips lifting in invitation as her fingers swirl over the wetness at the tip of his cock, down the shaft and past his balls.

Fiona whistles lowly, egged on by his needy reactions (and the absence of his safe word). “God, you are _easy_ ,” she muses, running one nail over his taint. “Just gotta bully you a little and you get all hot and bothered, don’t you. Ready to bend over and beg.”

“No I _don’t_ ,” gasps Rhys, and then her slick finger strokes at his hole, and he’s throwing his head back and keening. “Oh - oh my god…”

“There we go,” says Fiona lowly. “It feels nice when I touch you down there, doesn’t it?”

“Quit _teasing_ \- ”

“But you love it when I tease you,” she says, and her finger slips into him easily.

His reddened, bruised mouth drops open in shock. “Oh - fuck - ”

She smirks tauntingly. “Someone’s all ready to go, huh?” She pushes her finger deeper and crooks it gently. 

He moans, voice pitching up like a question. “Fiona - please - ”

“Please what?” she says. “‘ _Please stop?’_ Cause I can stop.”

“Don’t,” he whispers, grinds down desperately on her finger, “don’t you dare stop - ”

She chuckles. “Aw, I thought you didn’t want me to tease you anymore.”

“I want you to - I want you to…” He trails off into a groan.

“What.”

“...p-put another one in,” he says, screwing his eyes shut. “Please.”

“Oh, you want _more_?” Fiona asks. “One isn’t enough, huh?” She withdraws her hand and licks a wet stripe up two fingers before closing in yet again, trailing her fingertips around his rim. He whimpers, throws up an arm to hide his face.

But she’s faster than he is, grabs his wrist and tugs it away before he can object. “Nuh-uh. Look at me.”

“But - ”

“Look at me,” she says, and the intensity in her voice surprises her. 

So Rhys looks. “O-okay,” he whispers, their eyes meeting. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” says Fiona softly, tentatively. “Good...good boy.”

It’s a risk, she knows it. A limit waiting to be crossed, to make this thing blossoming between them too raw, too real. 

But he doesn’t protest, doesn’t push her away, just makes a needy little noise and spreads his legs wider at the praise. 

And then she can’t take it anymore, and she pushes two fingers into him, and captures his cry in an open-mouthed kiss. He whimpers into her mouth as she pumps her fingers in and out, clutches the back of her coat, grinds down against her hand. 

Her fingers aren’t big but they’re deft, well-trained from years of picking pockets. (And okay, fine, also from fingering people. But hey, she’s had no complaints so far.) She presses them deep into him, curls them in that just-so way, drinks in the way he cries out for her so sweetly in response. “Oh - oh! - right there,” he gasps. 

“Right there?” says Fiona teasingly, and does it again, slowly and deliberately pressing on that little bundle of nerves. He tosses his head, back arching, whines out something incoherent. 

Fiona chuckles. “There we go,” she purrs, her voice husky with desire. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “don’t stop, don’t stop - ”

And so she doesn’t stop, just goes harder and deeper, opening him up until he’s gasping with pleasure, moaning her name, and then -

His eyes fly open. “Oh - oh my god - I’m gonna…”

And that’s all the warning she gets before he’s clenching around her and cumming hot and wet and untouched over his stomach. He pants underneath her, riding out his orgasm on her hand with little jerks of his hips.

Finally, he stills. Fiona just stares. “Holy shit. You just...came.”

Rhys blushes fiercely. “...well...”

A devious grin splits her face. “You actually just came without touching your dick. Just from my fingers inside you.”

“It’s...it’s been a while, all right - ”

“Right, cause it barely took you two minutes - you couldn’t help but cum as soon as you had something stuffed up your ass.”

He squirms, but this is clearly turning him on, too. “It’s just - it’s just sensitive!”

“Aww,” Fiona cooes, “Poor Rhys and his _sensitive_ _hole_.”

“Shut up,” says Rhys, even as his still-hard cock twitches.

Fiona looks down pointedly. “Wonder if that sensitivity has anything to do with the fact that you somehow keep yourself waxed down there, too.”

Impossibly, Rhys seems to get even redder. “It’s not -”

“It’s not? Cause it feels pretty, uh, waxed to me.”

“I…” He sighs, concedes. “I got it lasered off, okay? A while ago.”

“Of _course_ you did. Wow. Totally not going to use that knowledge as blackmail.”

“It’s just - it feels cleaner that way!” 

“Uh-huh,” says Fiona drily. “And it has nothing to do with liking the way you feel when someone tells you what a cute little hole you have, right?”

Rhys stills, looks coyly up at her. “...you really think it’s cute?”

“Well - uh - I don’t know,” says Fiona. “I haven’t really gotten a proper look yet.”

Rhys bites his lip. “Do you want one?”

A laugh bursts out of her. “Ooh, exhibitionism too! The full package!”

“S-shut up,” says Rhys again, but it’s rather fond. 

She crouches closer to him. “You keep saying that because I’m right, don’t you. Cause I’ve got your number.”

“That’s not true - ”

“It’s not? Well then.” She stands, folding her arms. “Why don’t you prove it to me?”

He looks up at her blankly. “How.”

“You could start by bending over the vanity table,” says Fiona, and shrugs off her coat. 

His eyes flick to the vanity, then back to her, then back to the vanity. “But - the mirror - ”

“But?”

He sighs dramatically. “...fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Good,” says Fiona curtly. “Go on.”

He obeys, and she takes a moment to fish out a bottle of lube from her bag. (After a brief consideration, she also steps into her heeled boots again - leverage is important, after all.)

Rhys is waiting for her when she approaches the vanity table. He’s tall enough that he almost has to bend past his waist to rest his palms on the desk, but that just forces his perky ass out, puts a pretty arch in his back. Still, he stares defiantly into the mirror, making eye contact with Fiona via his reflection. 

“That’s it,” says Fiona, curt and businesslike. “Spread your legs a little more.”

Rhys does so, shifting his feet apart slightly. Fiona stands behind him and spreads his cheeks apart, inspecting him closely. “Huh.”

“What.”

“I was right. You do have a cute little hole - aw, you’re even blushing down here, that’s _adorable -_ ”

“A-are you gonna fuck me or not?” Rhys asks, trying and failing to hide the crack in his voice. 

Fiona scoffs. “Well, not if you’re going to ask me like that. Besides, I’m taking my time.” She crouches down to run her hands over his thighs, ignoring his little whimpers of aroused protest. God, his skin is just too damn soft underneath her callused, rough palms. Still plush and baby-smooth after months on Pandora. “Jesus,” she whispers in wonder, grabbing a handful of his ass. “Not even Pandora could toughen you up, huh.”

“I’m...tough,” Rhys says, high and breathy and pouting.

“Sure you are,” says Fiona, and plants a bite on the velvety skin right where his ass meets his thigh. He mewls pathetically, and Fiona hopes that the bite will bruise.

But she doesn’t linger to find out. Instead, she leans in closer, lets the warm breath of her mouth ghost over the cleft of his cheeks. “You showered, right?” 

“Yeah, why - _ohholyshit_ ,” says Rhys, as Fiona drags her tongue slowly over his hole. “Ohhhhh my god - ”

Fiona grins against his heated skin. “That’s it,” she says, before diving back in, kissing and licking around the rim with practiced expertise. 

And the sounds Rhys is making are pretty good indications that she’s right on the money. “Ah,” he gasps, “ah, right there right there right there - ”

In response, Fiona grabs him by the hips and presses her tongue into him. She thinks she could probably die happy right now, spreading Rhys’s cheeks and mouthing against his perfect little hole and listening to him moan in delight. 

At least, so she thinks. Until Rhys starts really getting into it. “Oh my God, Fiona - please, stop teasing me,” he whines. “Just fuck me, just do it, _please -_ ”

She pulls back, a laugh tugging at her lips. “...what was that?”

“Y-you heard me!”

“I don’t think I did,” she says, and stands up, leaning over him. “Why don’t you tell me again?”

For a long moment, Rhys doesn’t look at her, doesn’t move, just pants with his cheek against the wood of the desk. 

_It’s not too late to go back,_ a small, mean voice says in the back of her mind. _Just leave now and pretend none of this ever happened. Pretend things are normal. Nothing will change. Right?_

But -

“Please,” Rhys asks, _begs_ , and she opens her eyes to meet the reflection of his in the mirror. Desperate and wanting. “I need you to fuck me. _Please_.”

And that just confirms the deepest and darkest of her fears. Cause now Fiona knows that she really is a sucker after all.

“Okay,” she hears herself saying, feels herself grinning. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says back, and shyly grins too.

She lubes up the strap-on quickly, shivering as she runs her hand up and down its length. Rhys is remarkably patient, just bites his lip and looks and waits until she’s ready. Watching him watch her gives her a shock of self-consciousness - the one thing she’s been ignoring all night - and she sees her reflection flush in response. She looks away quickly.

That isn’t lost on Rhys, though. “You’re kidding me,” he says, turning his head to look at her. “You’re getting cold feet about this NOW?”

“I’m not getting cold feet,” says Fiona, and makes a point not to look at herself in the mirror. “We’re still doing this.”

“Then do it now,” says Rhys, eyes shut and hips twitching back. “Come on, Fi, I need it, pleeeease.” 

“Man,” Fiona breathes, steadying herself behind him. “I called it before - you _do_ get slutty when you’re turned on.”

“I’m not _slutty_ , I just need your cock so _bad_ \- ”

“Okay, okay,” Fiona laughs, and lines herself up. “Ready?”

“Yes, god, please, please - ” He cuts himself off with a breathless moan as Fiona slowly presses the head of her cock in. And Fiona moans along in perfect harmony as she sinks into him like he was made to take her, made for her alone. 

She pushes in a little further and Rhys shakes, grasps the edge of the table with white knuckles. “Oh - that’s big - that’s really big - ”

“It’s not that big, you’re just tight as hell,” she responds, because that’s true too, he’s hot and tight and positively _heavenly_ -

“It’s been a while - okay okay gimme a second.” She stills, and he takes a deep breath, adjusting to the stretch. “Agh. Wow.”

Fiona ignores how something inside her purrs at seeing him struggle to take her. “Do you want - ”

“Move.” 

She does so, thrusting gently, and watches his eyes roll back in his head as he lets out a soft, punched-out sound. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Oh my God.” 

Finally, finally, she bottoms out, her pelvis settling against his ass. He pants, scrabbles at the table’s surface. “Wow. Jesus.”

“Does it feel good…?”

Rhys lifts his head, and she sees his face in the mirror, his half-lidded eyes, his flushed cheeks. “That,” he gasps, “feels fucking _incredible_.” 

Fiona grins, and slowly draws herself out before pushing fluidly back in. His mouth falls open into a perfect, reddened O as she drives it home, and he lets out a throaty moan. “Harder,” he pants, “go _harder_ \- ”

But Fiona’s not convinced that easily. She slows her thrusts, dragging her cock out past his rim and back in again. He sobs in frustration, tries to buck back against her, but she holds him still as she winds a hand in his hair and gently tugs. 

That makes him gasp, makes his back arch, pulls his head up to face his reflection. He meets her gaze and moans, bites his lip. 

“Not an exhibitionist, my ass,” says Fiona with a smirk. “You vain bastard.”

“Shut up,” says Rhys, but his eyes are still on the mirror, and Fiona knows now that “shut up” is Rhys’s bratty way of saying _please, keep going, please._

So she does. “Go on,” Fiona breathes. “Watch yourself. See how good you look.” 

And damn, he does look good like this, fucked-out and coming apart at the seams. He seems almost drunk with it, dazed and pliant, gasping with pleasure. 

“...Good boy,” she whispers again, and he positively melts, whines and clenches around her, bucks his hips back against her own as she fucks into him.

But soon enough Fiona realizes she’s starting to lose steam - she hasn’t done this in years, and she’s a little out-of-shape, and her glutes are starting to burn in a less-than-pleasant way. She stalls for a moment to pant, wiping her forehead off with the back of her hand.

But Rhys - the little shit - doesn’t miss that. Of course he doesn’t. “What, are you getting _tired_?”

“No,” Fiona says defiantly. “I...I didn’t want to cum too soon.”

“Uh - you remember that that’s a dildo, right?” Rhys says. “You can cum and just keep going? Cause it’s a dildo?”

“It’s - ” Fiona tries to thrust, but her thighs shake, and she collapses over Rhys’s back. “Shit.”

“Wow. All that buildup and you can’t even fuck me right,” says Rhys, a playful glint in his eye. “What are we doing here again?”

“I’m…just be patient, okay?”

But then Rhys does something truly unexpected - he stands up, forcing her to slip out of him, and turns to face her. “I’m running out of patience now,” he says. 

And then a finger’s at her shoulder and she’s being gently pushed down onto the couch, too shocked to fully realize what’s happening. “What are you - ”

But Rhys just slings a leg over her lap and gives her a coy little smile. “I’m taking what I need,” he says, and lowers himself onto her cock in a single fluid motion. 

Fiona’s hips buck at the sudden sensation, and she lets out a truly embarrassing sound as Rhys grinds his ass down. “Fffffuck,” she whispers, grabs at Rhys’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises. And he doesn’t care, just licks his lips and starts to ride her, tantalizingly slow but deep, so fucking deep. His eyelids flutter as her cock brushes against what must be his prostate, and he moans, low and dripping with satisfaction. The slow rolls of his hips are practiced, precise, bringing Fiona right to the edge and then pulling away just when she can barely stand it. But - damn, he’s beautiful like this too, she thinks, completely absorbed in his own pleasure. 

Still, after a few minutes, Fiona decides that he’s looking a little too comfortable. So just as he’s about to sink down on her shaft once again, she takes a hold of his waist and thrusts up and pulls him all the way onto her cock, all at once. 

That - that makes Rhys scream, really scream. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shocked arousal as she smirks up at him, grinds her hips up against his. 

In retaliation, he grasps her shoulders and pushes her back against the couch cushions, pinning her, and at this point she doesn’t know if she’s holding him down or if he’s holding her down or maybe both or maybe neither, anymore. And that doesn’t matter, not ever but especially not now. Because Fiona’s finally got her breath back, feels a second wind coming, and that’s enough to spur her on. “Hold on,” she says, and that’s the only warning Rhys gets before she lifts him and flips him onto the couch. 

Suddenly they’re back where they started - him on his back, her between his legs, boxing him in with her arms and grinning playfully down at him. Fiona leans down and kisses him again, and he moans into her mouth as she nibbles at his bottom lip, trailing wet open kisses down his cheek and over his neck. She plants a bite right at his collarbone as she slides her cock between his cheeks, teasing at his hole. 

And Rhys responds beautifully, as he always does. “Oh fuck,” he whines, shifting his hips to try to press her in even deeper. “Don’t start teasing me now, please, _please_.”

Fiona just grins. “Why’s that?” she asks, and pushes the head of her cock just-barely into him, using all her remaining self-control to stay as still as possible. “What, are you gonna cum again?”

The stretch of her cock has Rhys panting, clutching at her wrists. “Yes, just put it all in again, for the love of _God_ \- ”

“So demanding,” says Fiona, but she obliges, swiftly canting her hips forward. Rhys sobs in relief and Fiona starts at a relentless pace, fucking him like she’ll never have the chance to touch him again. Sweat drips into her eyes and her muscles ache from the strain but she doesn’t care, only cares about the sweet little sounds Rhys makes when she drives her cock home, the staccato “ _ah-ah-ah_ ” of his cries as they fill the caravan. Their bodies rock together in perfect synchronicity, ebbing and flowing, giving and taking, taking, taking. 

She presses her forehead to his as he curls his legs around her, drawing her closer, deeper. God, he’s still so tight, so hot, and now he’s looking up at her with no trace of the mischief he’d had in his eyes before. Just open, desperate need. “Please,” he moans, “please, please, please,” and Fiona doesn’t know what he’s begging her for now but it doesn’t matter anyway, it still sends a flare of heat to her gut and makes her thrust into him harder, faster. 

She reaches down and toys at a nipple and that really makes him keen, makes his toes curl behind her back. “I’m so close,” he cries, “I need to cum, please, please - ”

“Then do it,” says Fiona, and wraps her hand around his cock. “Come for me, honey.”

And his back arches up into her as he obeys, spilling hot and messy into her hand, sobbing out her name.

The sight of him coming undone beneath her is what tips her over the edge too, and she comes with a shout, teeth gritted and eyes shut. Waves of pleasure sear through her and she shakes with it, grips Rhys’s shoulder, rides it out as long as she possibly can before her arms give way and she collapses over him.

When she finally comes back to herself, her head is on his chest, and she’s stroking mindlessly at the smooth skin of his neck. God, he really is soft, she thinks distantly. Soft like nothing and no one she’s ever felt on this planet before, soft enough to get high just on touching. Something rare, valuable, precious.

But now Rhys is shifting around, saying something that she can’t quite make out. She lifts her head. “What was that?”

Rhys looks at her and smirks. “I win.”

“Win what - where did you get that.”

“What, this?” He dangles her wallet - her _wallet_ \- in front of her. 

“Yes, that!” She grabs at it, but he’s too fast for her, and pulls it out of her reach. “How did you - ”

“Well,” Rhys says smugly, “there are more creative places to put a wallet than in your boot. Especially when your eyes are closed and someone’s sucking you off. And a very convenient seat cushion with a perfectly-shaped hiding spot is nearby.” He grins, disgustingly satisfied with himself. “So I got you. I win the game.”

Fiona stares at him, stunned. “You piece of shit,” she finally manages to exclaim, “you are so - you are such an asshole - ”

“You asked me to try to do it. And I did. That makes me not an asshole.”

“No! You’re an asshole! You are so - you are so _bad_!” She snatches her wallet back. 

But he just bites his lip, flutters his eyelashes in faux-innocence. “Well, if I’ve been so bad, maybe you should really _punish_ me.” His voice drops to a low purr, and he grinds his hips up against her. “ _Don’t you think_?”

A moment passes. 

And then a slow, understanding smile spreads across Fiona’s face. “...oh, you want to be punished, do you? Is that what all this was about?”

Rhys pouts, but his eyes glint playfully. “I’m not telling.”

“And what do I have to do to you to get you to tell me.”

“Maybe you should find out,” he says, and bites his lip.

Fiona swats him lightly on the arm, laughing. “You are such a _brat_.”

“You love it.”

“I do not.”

“Sure,” says Rhys, and gives her a conspiratorial wink. 

And that, of course, leaves her unable to do anything but grab the back of his neck and drag him up into another kiss.

Oh, she is so totally fucked.


End file.
